POOs had offered Borland a program that helped with substance abuse. Psychology had taken leaps and bounds in behavioral science back in the day and after. Since the Variant Effect had chemical triggers, it was dangerous to add drugs to any mix, so they dumped the medicine cabinet and worked on brainwashing therapies from big fat e-texts full of egghead jabber.
"Better to carry it," Borland whispered under his breath, remembering the man, knowing how close he'd come to sharing Spiko's fate.
As his exhaustion grabbed him again, a final titter of anxiety connected his nerves to the compartment below as the bagged-boys took their seats. They'd been watching the exchange too.
"See the firepower out there?" Zombie was first. "The army has it locked up tightÖ"
"Ziplocked," Lilith corrected.
"It's good to have them at our backs," Zombie muttered.
"Until we try to get out of the bag," Lilith added cryptically.
CHAPTER 35
Hyde knew it was standard protocol for Brass and the Old Man to stay behind. That kinderkid, Tinfingers would come later, a liaison charged with shuttling information back and forth: data, lies-a witness? Another paranoid tremor passed. That was standard. They'd give the orders concerning protocol and procedure if the Sneak Squad stirred up enough evidence to act. That was all it was. Tinfingers would carry hard evidence in the event the Sneak was discovered. In case things ended up in court, or an inquest.
Hyde was relieved when Brass led him to the big Horton ambulance that had arrived at the stationhouse behind the transports. His anxieties had been running high, as he imagined sharing the close confines of T-1 or T-2 with the squads. Aside from the inane and naïve conversation, he'd have hated the proximity because of the heightened chance of infection, and he'd never have endured the close scrutiny. Which said nothing about what prolonged exposure to Borland would do to him.
The heavy vehicle swayed as it took a long curve and Hyde's stomach sank. They'd been on the road for an hour.
The Horton had been stripped down and arranged to allow him relatively free movement in his chair and was appointed with hand railings to give him mobility in his braces for access to the toilet-shower and bed. He was pleased to see that the port wall that would normally carry medical and rescue equipment had been converted to hold flat screen, computer and communications equipment along with his other gear.
There was a locker at the end where they stowed his bag-suit.
Brass had shown it to him.
"It's like a second skin," he had said, "Sorry-that's from the brochure. But it's like the skin-shell body wear used by other survivors from back in the day."
Hyde knew he was not the only one to survive a skinning, though few were so completely denuded. It was rare for someone in his condition to survive despite medical advances. But many others who lost a large portion of skin and either refused grafting or feared it, chose skin-shell body wear. Like clothing, the flexible covering could be worn over damaged areas as either flexible, formfitting patches of opaque colors for simple protection, or with its surface activated to display, giving the appearance of skin over those sections. The imaging was convincing at first glance, usually harvested from full body scans of existing healthy tissues, or scans of living donors with matching physiology.
Some of the more expensive units mimicked texture and pulse. But it was a cheap trick at best. The skin-shells were still shells, unable to give more than a two-dimensional image while protecting damaged areas. There were 3-D versions that projected a full 'mask' but this failed to do more than raise expectations, and was a dismal failure when it came to the touch test.
Some of the more playful inheritors of the prosthetics programmed them to display the likenesses of famous download stars. The more flamboyant opted for peacock-like colored light shows and psychedelic displays. A good number were forced to offset the cost of the expensive gear by allowing the display of advertising.
How alien do you want me to feel?
Hyde refused to take part in the delusion. Attract attention, engage human contact and then the skin-shell came off and it was all scar tissue.
Brass said that Hyde's bag-suit was made of a tougher version of this material for its protective and hygienic qualities, with some of its display abilities enabled.
"Just in the event," Brass had added. "In case you need to fit in."
Hyde could understand that, should the squad's activities in Parkerville expose him, but the 'protective' qualities almost drew a laugh. He didn't bother pointing out that skin eaters were the last things he had to fear.
Without the extras activated, his bag-suit looked like a dark-purple wet suit with hard plastic joints.
The Horton inherited Hyde's driver, the Corporal, and came with a medic, Gordon, who would look after his needs and assist Dr. Cavalle who was along as the squad's POO and chief medical officer. One of the bagged-boys, Mao, was also listed as med-tech for the squad. His stint as a Metro paramedic clinched him the position. His family immigrated to the states the day after, from a province in China that was far north and upwind of the Asian nuclear destruction zones.
Hyde had been disappointed to learn that the Horton's computer and communications gear were configured for squad, police and government information channels only.
No War Eagle-yet. Hyde had a few tricks that might allow him to log onto the game, and he had noticed a couple bagged-boys of an age that could guarantee some hack-knowledge. And there was Wizard, a bagged-girl approaching 30, with a decade in the corporate IT sector who had been in the process of joining FBI counterintelligence when the call for Variant Squad volunteers went out. She'd know how to get past the net-locks.
Then Hyde wondered how much of Wizard's story was true. Had she just applied to the FBI, or was she an agent already?
Hyde shook such thoughts aside for the moment, they'd be back, and stared at the large flat screen that would be perfect for the game he was denied.
Without War Eagle he would have time to hate Borland. Normally, that was something he did at intervals on any given day. But he'd have to watch himself. Hyde wanted to make it through this, and emotions were distracting. His feelings for Borland could blind him to the dangers ahead.
He wanted to make it through this. That was an odd thought. Nostalgia or training kicking in?
He had to focus on the mission. No game, so he'd run over the bagged-boy roster files-get to know the squad, and he'd study Parkerville maps and history. Understand the operating theater. Since he could not escape the nightmare, he had to get past it. Especially now that Brass' news about some of Parkerville's inhabitants had raised the stakes even higher.
CHAPTER 36
Borland wrenched his back using the toilet-shower, but managed to spruce up enough to warrant a change into his Squad jumper. Mudroom had witnessed his wet pornographic struggle but he refused to hurry unwrapping his vacuum-packed robe.
She rolled her eyes when he smiled nonchalantly.
Borland worked the locks on his steel kit box with swollen fingers and opened it. Inside the standard: peaked-cap with the Variant Squad emblem and rank emblazoned on the black beak, one-piece jumper and jacket, thick-soled knee-high boots, gun belt and ammo packs. A neatly folded bag-suit-extra large he was sure, looking slightly more high-tech than the captain-suit he'd worn back in the day. Instead of the close fitting dark-gray that would distinguish him from the troops, this was clear vinyl like the other bagged-boys with thick black rubber and Kevlar at the joints.
He paused to finger the patch on the breast of his jacket and thought back to his old uniform, the one he'd retired in. How many times had he pulled that out in the nights and days since the day, deep in his cups just thinking back and wondering what it was all for. A smile crossed his face, remembering the times he'd put the old jacket on. He couldn't even button the collar.
Borland's hernias twitched and pulled as he walked down the transport ramp flexing his injured right hand. It had a hot, rubbery feel l
ike the bones were too big. He'd ripped off the old bandage before showering, and would get Dr. Cavalle to replace it when she had the chance.
T-1's noisy air brakes and ratcheting motor had alerted him to the vehicle's arrival at the Parkerville military base, dragged him out of sleep in the early hours. He propped himself up onto an elbow to peek out. Streetlights glaring, flaring in his eyes as the transport hurtled past another gate and guards. Its heavy tires roared on sheets of blacktop that stretched off into the gloom-the airport. He was too tired and lost in hangover to give it more than a bleary glance before falling back on the bunk to experience the strangely thrilling forces of gravity pull and push his bulk as the big transport heaved and swayed its way along the base's tight streets.
After the rear door fell open with a bang, he had taken a couple quick shots to replace his nausea with a compelling fist of heat. He had hefted the near-empty flask and shrugged before squirming his way onto the toilet-shower. Metallic echoes reached him from the open compartment below as the squad set up shop outside. Brass had ordered them to establish a temporary stationhouse in a spacious warehouse designated by the base commander, Colonel Hazen.
Hazen would provide a secure area for them to work. Borland didn't know the man, but was told he was a soldier back in the day, and had experience with Variant Squads. There would be no fanfare though. Sneak Squads didn't work that way. The army adopted a 'need to know' support role. Meaning, the Sneak Squad might be able to call on the army for support, but if things got really bad they were on their own.
Brass had ordered a small group into Parkerville undercover to get the lay of the land while the rest of the squad remained behind to continue training under Aggie. The undercover team members would have 'army security' passes to show around when the inevitable questions came up as locals identified them as strangers.
The 'official' story about the roadblocks said the army had been storing military munitions at the base. Recent investigation by army tech-men had found the munitions unstable. Traffic in and out of town was being regulated; the airport and military base had been closed until the ordinance could be safely destroyed. Your patience is appreciated.
Borland's official story for planning to lead the first group into Parkerville was he needed a drink, and his squad needed cranking materials.
The rest of it followed.
He stepped off the ramp and looked around the warehouse. It was just a lot of space, big halogen overheads beaming down. The transports had been parked side by side about 40 feet apart forming a training ground that Aggie was putting to good use. About half the recruits had formed ranks there. Aggie stood in front of them looking tough and sexy in her Variant Squad jumper. There was a table set up beside her. A bag-suit was spread out on it. She hefted its hood.
This is your new homeÖ Borland stifled a chuckle. A nostalgic ache transfixed him. This is your body bagÖ
Hyde's Horton was parked a good distance from the transports, its nose tucked up against a wall of crates bearing cryptic insignia and serial numbers. There were three civilian vans, a sedan and an SUV parked farther on.
Brass had said a fire crew and BZ-2 team would be set up at different locations on the base. The crews had always been separate forces back in the day-rarely cranked together or fraternized with squads, partly due to the dangerous and volatile tools of their trades, but also because of their duties. BZ-2 teams had put down many a presenting squad member, and fire crews were tasked with cremating them. It was hard to go drinking with people you might have to burn.
But they were always one call away.
Borland idly pondered whether Brass had called up retired fire and gasmen too, or whether that was necessary for a job that any pyromaniac or closet-Nazi could handle.
It had rankled a bit when Brass informed him that Aggie was in command of the Sneak, with Borland and Hyde along as ranked advisors. She was the direct liaison with Brass and the Old Man, and gave the final order to the boots on the ground, with authority to override any command Borland or Hyde might issue.
The only consolation was she didn't have rank over them. Borland was sure that was because Brass knew they'd be more effective untethered, and it was a hard lesson learned from back in the day. Inflexible command structures failed in rapidly changing situations-especially situations where your own force could start eating you.
The current set up also made Aggie responsible for what happened on the Sneak, and Borland would enjoy the freedom that gave him. Of course, that also made him easy to cut loose.
He was poised to be the mother of all scapegoats.
CHAPTER 37
"There is an oxygen supply in the suit." Borland turned as Aggie's voice echoed in the open space. She handled the tough vinyl tunic, her strong fingers pointing out control tabs on the chest. "But that will only initiate during a suit lockdown. At such a time you will have about 40 minutes of breathable. Because the Variant Effect is blood-borne not airborne the bag-suits are basic tough coverings designed to keep biological fluids and chemicals away from your skin and orifices. A suit lockdown is useful in a fire and smoke setting, or God forbid if you're caught in an area with a BZ-2 treatment underway. Lockdown shuts vents and automatically turns on the breathable. The canisters run up the outer calves on the leggings."
"All right, Sneakers, fall inÖ" The words were whispered into Borland's ear with the intimacy of snakebite.
Flinching, his blood pressure popping, he turned.
Robert Spiko stood beside him, a wry smile twisted over his scarred features. His dark eyes glinted from under gray-flecked brows.
"You wanted to say it." Spiko's voice was rougher than Borland remembered, like he'd spent long hours screaming. "I can tell by the way you're standing."
"Spiko," Borland groaned, extending a hand, then paused, sharing a look over the swollen and damaged palm. They settled for a left-oriented fist bump.
"Heard about Lovelock." That meant someone told him. Spiko's face went rigid with purpose.
Borland gritted his teeth for the worst.
"Nice work." Spiko gave him the once-over. "Marsh must have got sloppy and underestimated that fat wreck of a body."
"Yeah," Borland said.
"Just tell me you're not smoking too," Spiko started, then shook his head. "You still holding grudges, or can you remember the old scores?"
"Memory is wasted on the young." Borland restrained a snarl.
"Not remembering was your trademark," Spiko laughed and thumped a fist into Borland's shoulder. "I'm hoping you'll forget the things I did." His dark eyes looked away. "I'm not like that anymore."
"Yeah," Borland grunted, looking away to the troops.
They stood side by side watching the young faces, remembering ghosts, until Spiko continued, "If things get bad, we gotta get those kids out alive."
"YeahÖ" Borland winced, feeling his own questionable conduct multiply in magnitude so close to Spiko.
"Spiko!" Hyde's grating voice cut the space between them as he wheeled up. "Expect no absolution from me. I'll be watching."
Spiko turned as Borland shook his head.
"That will give me great comfort, Eric." Spiko didn't bother to offer a hand.
Borland watched Hyde's body clench under the heavy hooded coat.
"Captain Hyde," he rasped, drool glistening on his scarred chin. "Or is your restoration unfettered by protocol and chain of command?"
"No. I apologize, Captain." Spiko sighed, heavy shoulders slumping. "I was speaking fondly."
"He'll cure you of that," Borland sniggered, before sauntering toward Aggie. She had just ordered the volunteers to jog around the warehouse. It was big enough for a half-mile loop.
She looked up at Borland, noticed his uniform and smiled.
"God help usÖ" she chuckled. "He's back."
Borland felt a small glimmer of confidence before...
"Big as a funhouse mirror!" She slapped her knee and bent over laughing.
Borland's resolve tre
mbled but he recovered with a touch of vulnerability as he watched the volunteers jog past.
"You're right, I should be running with them."
She shook her head.
"I'm going to take a couple of baggies into town for lunch." He looked around the warehouse. "Brass wants a scouting mission."
Aggie nodded.
"What?" Borland stared at her, his hackles raised. "You're just green-lighting it?"
"I wouldn't," she said, strong fingers closing buckles and folding the bag-suit on the table. "But Brass said you'd want to go in first, and I should allow it."
Borland ran that over in his mind. Sacrificial lamb.
"And I think it's the best way to settle the argument."
"What's that mean?" Borland eyed her suspiciously.
"If you screw up right away, I can get rid of you right away." She nodded, looking him over. "This is Brass' call. I don't know why you're here now, and I don't want you around if the going gets tough."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Aggie."
"I got no confidence in you, Joe. Not in Brass either. Neither of you boys minded sending soldiers to their deaths." She had turned to Borland, eyes blazing, those fists of hers ready.
"I didn't send anybody," Borland said, watching her hands, "I led them."
Aggie was about to retort, but the words died on her lips. She shrugged and said: "I guess that's something."
"It's all I got." He leaned in snarling.
Aggie's shoulders swelled, and her expressions hardened, before she relented with a laugh. "See that you do a better job then, Captain Borland."
He tried to hold her gaze but looked away.
"Take your pick to go along," she said, lifting her e-reader, "and I'll brief them on your status and my expectations."
Borland scowled at her.
"This isn't about ego, Joe," she said. "This is about stopping the Variant Effect before it starts."
"Think I don't know that?" Borland's spirit deflated, his heart throbbed sickly.
"So get out of that monkey-suit and into your civvies." She shook her head and half-smiled. "This is a Sneak."
CHAPTER 38
The Variant Effect Page 11